


Lonely

by Emospritelet



Series: Sprite's Festive Fic Fest [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Stargate Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Belle is now 18 so the eventual smut will not be underage, Christmas, Do not repost on any site, F/M, Fingerfucking, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Kissing, Light Angst, Oral Sex, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage Drinking, Wall Sex, at least by the standards of most states, but they talk about the sex that definitely was, if not the state they're in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:38:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21806488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: Follow up to Fragile. Dr Rush has managed to teach Belle French for an entire term without the fact that they spent the night together being properly dealt with. As the school breaks up for Christmas, Belle decides she has had enough of pretending it never happened.
Relationships: Belle (Once Upon a Time)/Nicholas Rush
Series: Sprite's Festive Fic Fest [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560835
Comments: 61
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fragile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121268) by [Emospritelet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet). 
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ripperblackstaff prompted: 80: "If I hang mistletoe on my belt, will you kiss me underneath it?"

Rush had never been one for the festive season, and since being widowed he had tried to ignore it as much as possible. It meant pleading a prior engagement when the teachers’ Christmas party was mentioned, but although Mal, the school principal, had shot him a suspicious and somewhat weary look when he claimed to be visiting a sick relative, no one else seemed to guess what he would really be up to. Which was sitting in the apartment that still didn’t really feel like his, drinking whisky and staring at the wall.

The students had a far more positive outlook on the approaching holiday, and as the term grew to a close, they grew more boisterous and disinclined to concentrate. It meant that he got to lose his temper, which was a sobering reminder for them all that he was more than capable of ranting for a good twenty minutes if pushed. He had already blown up at the juniors twice in the final week, and was hoping to get through the last class before Christmas without raising his voice. That class happened to be with his seniors, a select few of whom were every bit as immature as the youngest kids at the school. Gary Stone and his cronies were the worst of them, a hulking bully with a trio of smaller sycophants laughing at his feeble sexist and homophobic jokes. Rush had had the misfortune of supervising the boy’s detention on several occasions already, and didn’t especially want to repeat the process, but he wasn’t in the mood to tolerate the idiot.

And then there was Belle French.

Belle sat at the front of the class, her shining dark hair pulled back from her face or wound up on top of her head, tendrils curling around her slim neck. She was always punctual and attentive, did her work to a good standard and prepared for every lesson. She was, in short, a perfect student. Or at least she would have been, had he not had the poor judgement to repeatedly fuck her the night before he started at the school.

In his defence, he hadn’t known she was seventeen and a high school student. Of course, he hadn’t had the good sense to ask, either, but that was what came of being led by loneliness and grief and the dull, deep-down ache that came from months of being touch-starved. They had bonded over shared grief, he telling her of his guilt over his dead wife, and she lamenting the distance that had grown between her and her father since her mother’s passing. It had been good to unload, to let some of the pain flow out of him. She was beautiful, and kind, and for reasons he still couldn’t fathom she had wanted him. Perhaps as much as he had wanted her. And the next day, there she was, sitting directly in his line of sight as he faced his new class. 

He had dealt with the problem largely by pretending that nothing had happened between them. Belle had initially tried to raise the issue after the first lesson, but he had shut her down, his words cold and brusque. It sounded harsher than he intended, but perhaps that was just as well. In any event, she had seemed to accept it, and had not mentioned the matter again. Rush had spent a few sleepless nights agonising over whether to go to Mal and confess all, but in the end he decided against it. If Belle had reacted to his rejection with anything other than sad resignation, it might have been a different story, but he suspected that she didn’t want her private life being scrutinised any more than he did. They had managed the cool, slightly distant relationship of new teacher and capable student ever since.

He glanced up at her as she was carefully copying down the homework questions he had set. Her teeth were catching at her lower lip as she wrote, a habit she had that he had noticed was more apparent when she was concentrating. She was wearing a dark green shirt that set off her pale skin, a black skirt above thick tights and heeled boots. A red belt cinched her small waist, matching the lacquer on her nails, and he glanced away before she could look up. The class was growing restless, the lesson almost over.

“Remember I’m expecting your papers on my desk before you go,” he said loudly, making a few of them look up. “I know it’s the last day of school, but until the bell sounds, I’m still supposed to be teaching you, so get that homework handed in before you run off.”

As if on cue, the bell rang out, and there was a burst of noise as the students started getting ready to leave.

“Hey, Belle!” called Ruby Lucas, tossing a shining dark ponytail over her shoulder. “We’re heading to the diner. Milkshakes and muffins. You in?”

“Sure.” Belle smiled at her, shoving books in her bag.

“I’ll eat your muffin, Lucas,” said Gary, elbowing one of his friends, and Rush rolled his eyes.

“I thought we could swing by the Christmas market,” added Ruby, ignoring Gary. “Granny wanted some holly and mistletoe, and I’m pretty sure they had bunches hanging near the Christmas trees.”

“Yeah, no problem,” said Belle vaguely, pulling on her coat. 

“Hey, French!” called Gary. “If I hang mistletoe on my belt, will you kiss me underneath it?”

He and his idiot friends bellowed with mirth, and Belle raised a brow, looking supremely uninterested.

“Well, I guess with a dick that tiny, you’d need to signpost it somehow, right?” she said blithely, and the rest of the class erupted into laughter as Gary scowled.

“You bitch!”

“Mr Stone, that’s enough!” said Rush sharply. “If you insist on grossing out young women, you have to expect them to retaliate, but I won’t have gendered insults in my class.”

“She called me a dick!” he objected, as the class continued to snicker.

“No she didn’t,” said Ruby, smirking. “It was _ tiny _dick.”

Gary glowered.

“Actually I said you _ had _ a tiny dick, not that you _ were _ a tiny dick,” clarified Belle. “Pretty sure you’re a _ huge _dick, anyhow. Ironic, really.”

Rush gave her a very level look.

“The ban on gendered insults applies to you too, Miss French.”

“Even if it’s accurate?”

Rush wanted to pinch his nose in frustration, but he let out a sigh instead.

“Given that none of us want to be spending this evening either taking or doing bloody detentions, could you all please bugger off before I have to start dishing them out?” he snapped. “For the last time, papers on my desk! For the last time, make sure you do the bloody homework over the holidays! Now get lost and I’ll see you all in the New Year!”

There was a scraping of chairs and a chorus of _ Merry Christmas _ as the students started filing past his desk, dropping their papers in a messy pile. Rush largely ignored them, busy scribbling a reminder to himself to go over the syllabus and lesson plans again before term started in January. He liked to tweak lessons to keep pace with the students’ progress, and they were doing better than he had expected, so he jotted down a few ideas he wanted to explore. The soft thump of papers kept coming, the noise abating as the room emptied, and soon he was sitting in silence, but for the scratch of his pencil and the distant chatter of departing students in the hallway.

Somehow he could tell that she was still there. There was something in the atmosphere, a tense heaviness he remembered from the last time they had been in a room alone. He carried on writing, in the vain hope that she would leave, but he was running out of ideas, and so he tapped the pencil on the paper, steeling himself before glancing up. She was gazing at him with a sober expression in her blue eyes, a paper clutched to her chest like a shield.

“You can leave that here, Miss French,” he said dismissively.

She hesitated before dropping it on the pile with the others. Rush bent his head to his notes again, but she didn’t move, and after a moment he looked up with a sigh.

“Was there something else?”

“I just wanted to say thank you,” she said hurriedly, and he felt his eyes narrow.

“For what?”

“For teaching us,” she said, surprising him. “I know it doesn’t always seem like it, but the class really does appreciate it, you know. You’re way better at explaining things than Mr Hyde was. You make it - memorable. Maybe it’s the low key swearing, I don’t know.”

Rush felt his mouth quirk with a brief, faint smile.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “You’re all doing quite well. Better than I expected when I first got here.”

He wanted to bite his tongue for mentioning the start of term, that first awful, awkward day when he had tripped over his own words and failed to meet her eyes. A blush was rising in her cheeks, and he could tell she was thinking of it to. Or perhaps the night before. _ No no no, I do _ not _ need to be thinking about that! _

“Uh - thanks for dealing with Gary, too,” she said awkwardly. “The guy’s a sleaze. Ruby says to just ignore him, but I can’t seem to help myself.”

“Yes, he does seem to bring out the worst in people,” remarked Rush. “Maybe you should follow Miss Lucas’s lead.”

“Maybe so.” She looked hesitant, fingers toying with a button on her coat. “How are you?”

Rush sat back in his chair, resting his pencil against the notepad as he flicked his hair out of his eyes. _ How long has it been since someone asked me that? _

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’m - I’m actually feeling a lot better.”

“Good,” she said, and took a breath. “I meant it, you know.”

“Meant what?”

Belle licked her lips, looking nervous.

“What I wrote on that notepad of yours, the morning after,” she said. “I - I hoped I helped you as much as you helped me. That’s all.”

Rush pushed back, getting to his feet and snatching up the pile of essays, grabbing at his leather satchel.

“We agreed not to talk about that again,” he said coldly, shoving the papers inside.

“Actually, we didn’t agree on anything,” she said, matching his tone. “You told me you were sorry. I said you shouldn’t be. You lost your temper. That was pretty much it.”

One of the papers was getting caught on something, and he was in danger of tearing the thing. He pulled it out roughly, folding it in half and shoving it in beside the rest.

“I don’t even understand what the big deal is,” she went on. “I was seventeen, so what? I’m now eighteen.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that in my resignation letter to Principal Drake, shall I?” 

“Oh, don’t be melodramatic!” she said flatly. “You do know the age of consent in Massachusetts is sixteen, right?”

“Yes, and I’m sure that’ll be all I need to say when they fire me for sleeping with a student.” 

“But you didn’t know!” she protested.

“No, but I should have bloody asked, shouldn’t I?” he snapped.

Belle folded her arms, raising her chin.

“It wasn’t even in school,” she said, sounding mutinous. “You weren’t a teacher until the next day, and no one has the right to interfere with my life or yours.”

“Yeah, well, that rarely stops them doing it, does it?” he said wearily. “Now go on, please. Just - just pretend it never happened. I’m sure you’ll feel better about it.”

“Like you do?” she said, raising a sceptical brow. “Right. Sure.”

Rush leaned on the desk with a sigh.

“Miss French…”

“Alright, I’m going,” she said. “I just wanted to tell you to stop beating yourself up over something that wasn’t your fault, that’s all. We were just two people who were lost and lonely, two people who needed - something. It wasn’t a crime.”

He remained silent, eyes fixed on the desk in front of him, on his splayed hands taking his weight. He could feel the smooth surface of the desk beneath his fingertips, could smell the scent of paper and pencils and the light, flowery aroma of Belle’s perfume. She let out a gentle sigh, the sound exasperated, regretful.

“Merry Christmas, Dr Rush,” she said. “Thank you.”

He heard her go, the click of heels against the tiled floor, the squeak and whoosh of the classroom door opening and closing, the way the noise from outside grew momentarily louder and was then muted. Sighing to himself, he straightened, running a hand through his hair and pulling on his jacket. Two weeks of leave until the new term started. More than enough time for both he and Belle French to put the past behind them.

* * *

Rush had only met the tenant of the apartment next door once since moving in. It appeared that they kept very different hours, and the man seemed to have a great many friends who enjoyed loud music and overindulging. As a lifelong insomniac, it wasn’t as though the noise was stopping Rush from sleeping, but it made it hard to work, and he had once pounded on the door to remind his neighbour it was the middle of the bloody night. The man had greeted Rush like a long-lost friend, announced that his name was Jefferson, and offered him a drink that was vibrant pink and smelled like drain cleaner. Rush had declined, received an unexpected hug and a moist kiss on his cheek, and had swiftly retreated to his apartment to put in earplugs.

It was Christmas Eve, and the rhythmic thumping of bass from next door, along with squealing and raucous laughter, suggested that Jefferson was having another of his parties. It might have been possible to tune it out, had it not been for the relentlessly cheerful Christmas music that the partygoers insisted on singing along to. Jefferson himself had already been at his door twice, offering festive cheer, an invitation to the party and another suspiciously colourful drink, and Rush had firmly declined.

A loud cheer went up from Jefferson’s apartment, the bacchanalian revelry continuing in earnest. Rush shook his head and poured himself a third glass of whisky, taking a sip and flicking through the pages of his notebook one-handed to check the equations he had been scrawling. He fumbled it, the whisky sloshing in his glass as he grasped at the book in midair in a vain attempt to catch it. The notebook fell to the floor between his feet, pages splayed outwards, and he grumbled under his breath as he sucked spilt whisky from his fingers and bent to snatch it up. The first page was folded over, a diagonal crease in the paper, and Rush opened it up, heart thumping a little as he flattened it out and read the words written there: _ I hope I helped you as much as you helped me. Thank you x. _

He stared at it, memories of the night he and Belle had shared bursting to life in his brain and clamouring for attention. Why the hell had he kept her note? Why leave room in his brain to dwell on something that should never have happened? He wasn’t too sure of the answer, but if he was honest with himself he didn’t want to forget their time together. It had been the start of his healing. Of moving on. It wasn’t wrong to recognise that. As long as he didn’t act on it.

A knock at the door made him glance up and frown.

“Jefferson, for the last fucking time, I do not need bloody _ rescuing_!” he snapped.

The knock came again, and Rush growled under his breath, tossing the notebook onto the coffee table and stomping to the apartment door.

“If I have to listen to another tuneless rendition of _ Santa Claus is Coming to Town _I will cheerfully strangle every last bloody one of you!” he snapped, wrenching open the door with a dozen more insults ready on his tongue.

He felt his eyes widen as Belle appeared in his sight, one hand raised as though she was about to knock again, and he swallowed down his empty threats, feeling them stick in his throat. She was bundled up in a black skater coat, a scarf wrapped around her throat and a plush and faux fur Santa hat pulled down over her dark curls. Her cheeks were pink with the cold, her lips parted and her blue eyes wide with surprise at his sudden appearance in the doorway.

“Hey,” she said, looking uncertain. “Can I come in?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still trying to fill the festive prompts I got, so here goes...
> 
> @ripperblackstaff prompted: 54 : “You look - festive”

Rush realised he was staring, and blinked twice.

“Miss French,” he said coolly. “What are you doing here?”

Belle pulled a face, glancing around uncomfortably.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” she said. “I couldn’t bear sitting in the house watching my dad drink until he passes out. Again.”

“Yes, but why come here?” he asked. “Surely your friends are all out celebrating.”

She sighed, mouth flattening.

“Yeah, they are,” she said. “That’s kind of the problem. They’re all out dancing and singing Christmas songs and having the time of their lives.”

“And?”

“And I don’t think I can put on an act for the whole evening,” she said. “I figured you were probably as lonely and miserable as I was, and you wouldn’t care if I wasn’t smiling and happy and full of the festive spirit. You gonna let me in?”

Rush sighed heavily.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah, well, neither is drinking alone, brooding over shit you can’t fix and letting yet another Christmas pass you by while you dwell on the past and wonder when the hell your life went down the toilet.”

His mouth twitched.

“Have you been looking through my window, or something?”

“Didn’t need to,” she said, and put her head to the side. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Well then.”

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling awkward.

“You know, my neighbour is having a party,” he said. “Why don’t you go and knock on his door? He’d welcome you in with open arms, I’m sure.”

“The guy with the top hat?” She smiled ruefully. “He yelled out of the window that I was gorgeous and offered me a drink.”

“Well then.”

“Like I said, not really in the party mood.” Belle shifted from foot to foot. “Look, I know I’m probably the last person you want to see, but we kind of left things on a - weird - note, and I wanted to fix it. You’re the only person I know that can understand how I’m feeling about everything. Sorry if that means I make you uncomfortable.”

Rush let out a sigh. _ It’s not her fault. None of this is her fault. None of it’s anyone’s fault, really. A mistake, that’s all. _

“You don’t,” he said. “It’s - it’s not your fault I’m uncomfortable, is it? It’s the situation.”

“I guess.”

She looked thoroughly miserable, and Rush could feel himself wanting to do something about it, wanting to help her. He stepped back, holding open the door.

“Alright,” he said. “Come on in.”

Belle smiled briefly, and stepped past him into the apartment. He closed the door behind her, wondering what the hell he was doing. She was shrugging out of her coat, and beneath it she wore a knitted red dress trimmed with white faux fur to match the hat on her head.

“You look - festive,” he remarked, and she shrugged, looking around the apartment.

“More than can be said for this place,” she said. “Don’t you celebrate?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Fair enough.” Belle draped her coat over the arm of the couch and sat down, looking up at him expectantly. “You got anything to drink?”

“Your fake I.D. isn’t gonna work on me this time,” he said, in a dry tone, and she rolled her eyes.

“Come on, it’s Christmas, give me a break.”

“I’ve only got whisky.”

“That’ll do.”

Rush shrugged, and went to pour her a glass, topping up his own. Belle took the glass with a smile of thanks, taking a sip and wrinkling her nose a little at the taste. Perhaps she didn’t like it. Perhaps she would decide that Jefferson’s party would yield more in the way of distractions, and leave. He wasn’t sure whether it would be a relief or not. She slumped onto the couch, whisky sloshing in the glass, and after a moment of debating whether he should take the chair, he sat down next to her.

“So,” she said. “This is your Christmas Eve, huh?”

“Beats last year,” he said.

“What did you do last year?”

“Drank myself into oblivion, mostly.”

“Oh.” She raised a brow, followed by her glass. “Well, the night is young.”

Rush barked a laugh at that, and took a sip of his drink.

“I’m not gonna repeat it, don’t worry.”

“Don’t care if you do,” she said. “I’ll just put you in the recovery position and bugger off home.”

“Good to know.”

“Just don’t expect me to clean up after you,” she added. “Get enough of that at home, thanks.”

Rush wasn’t sure whether their conversation was amusing or depressing, and decided to change the subject.

“Have you made any decisions on college yet?” he asked, and her mouth twisted. She took another drink.

“I’m staying in Boston.”

“Oh, well, Boston’s a good university,” he said. “What are you gonna study?”

Belle was silent for a moment. She took a drink of her whisky and sat back, not quite looking at him.

“I’m not,” she said. “At least - at least not just yet. I’m gonna look for work. Things have been pretty tight lately, and I can’t really afford college on top of that, you know?”

“Oh.” He took a sip of whisky. “Any idea what job you want?”

“One that pays actual Earth money, for sure,” she said. “Internships may be the way to a bright future, but they’re only for people who’ve never stressed over making rent or putting food in the cupboards. So I guess I’ll be learning how to make coffee and serve up burgers and fries real soon.”

That was a shame. He knew how daunting the thought of a large student loan must be, but it seemed a pity to let such a bright young mind wither under the strain of holding down whatever minimum wage job she managed to get.

“What does your father say about it?” he asked, and she sighed. 

“Given the terrible state of the college fund he was supposed to be keeping for me, I doubt he’s given it much thought.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, wishing it didn’t sound so trite.

“Well, I wouldn’t be the first person who had to make their own way in this world,” she said, with what seemed to be an attempt at positivity. “Isn’t this supposed to be the land where anyone can make it if they try hard enough? Or is that just what it used to be?”

“I’m not sure it ever was,” he said, taking a drink. “Not if you start with nothing, anyway.”

“Yeah.” 

Belle lapsed into silence, gazing into her drink. The muffled sound of Christmas music was coming through the walls from Jefferson’s party, punctuated with shrieks of laughter. It made a strange contrast to the heavy atmosphere in the apartment.

“Will you celebrate tomorrow?” he asked, and she pulled a face.

“I’ll cook a turkey and trimmings, and Dad’ll eat it,” she said. “He might even do the washing up, if his hangover isn’t too bad. Then I guess he’ll drink his way down another bottle of cheap bourbon while he watches terrible television and falls asleep in his chair.”

“Sounds like a difficult situation for you to deal with.”

Belle sighed, sitting back.

“He’s not a bad person,” she said. “Just - kind of lost. Broken. I guess it’s hard to see a way out when you’re looking at a wall the whole time.”

“Doesn’t help you though, does it?”

“Why do you think I’m here, and not there?” she asked wryly.

_ Why _ are _ you here? Why are you _ really _ here? _

“Has your father considered getting any professional help for his grief?” he asked, and she took a sip of whisky, sending him a long look.

“Have you?”

Rush pulled a face, and she gave him a knowing smile.

“I’m guessing that’s a no.”

“Not sure whether talking would help,” he admitted.

“Talking almost always helps,” she said. “Better form of therapy than drinking.”

“Or casual sex with strangers?”

Belle’s mouth flattened.

“That wasn’t therapy,” she said. “It was - solace, I suppose.”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I suppose it was.”

Silence fell again. He finished his whisky, and debated whether to pour another. A pleasant warmth had settled in his body, a light-headed looseness as he began to relax. Belle drained her glass, licking her lips.

“If you’re having another, I wouldn’t say no,” she said.

_ Fuck it. What harm can it do? _

He got up to fetch the bottle, pouring a measure for each of them, and sat down next to her again. Belle stretched out her legs with a sigh, sinking further back into the cushions.

“You said you moved up here from California,” she said. “Do you miss it?”

“The weather here matches my mood more,” he said, and she chuckled.

“Well, I guess there’s that,” she said. “Will you go back?”

“Eventually,” he said. “It’s only a sabbatical.”

“Has it helped?”

He thought about that for a moment.

“Yes,” he said eventually. “But it’s still too early to go back. Maybe I’ll stay another year, if I’m needed.”

“You could always try somewhere else,” she suggested. “Another university, I mean, not a school. Total change of scene. You could go back to Scotland.”

“Maybe.”

He rolled the glass between his fingers, watching the light gleam in the amber depths of the whisky. Jefferson’s guests were now singing _ Happy Holiday_, loud and off-key but cheerfully, and it was making him feel even more morose. He curled his lip a little, lifting his glass to take a drink. Belle glanced across at him.

“Do you want to go to bed?” she asked, and Rush almost choked on his whisky.

_ “What?” _he spluttered, eyes watering.

“Never mind.”

She settled back against the cushions, chewing her lip, and Rush put down his glass, wiping a few stray droplets of whisky from his shirt. There was a moment of silence before she turned to look at him again.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Do you want to go to bed?”

Rush stared at her, and she met his gaze, raising her chin a little as though preparing to counter whatever argument he could come with. 

“Is this you seeking more solace?” he asked, and she wrinkled her nose.

“Maybe. Is that bad?”

“I’m not sure you should be seeking it with me, that’s all,” he said. “Why don’t you find someone your own age?”

“Because I know with you it’ll be good, that’s why.”

Rush grumbled under his breath.

“We can’t keep doing this,” he said quietly.

“Two times in four months isn’t exactly a habit, is it?”

“Belle…” He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand over his face.

“Is that a no?”

Rush slumped back, turning his head to gaze at her. She had put down her glass and turned onto her side a little, nestled on the couch with her knees drawn up, big-eyed and sad. He felt a powerful urge to protect her, to wrap his arms around her and pull her close. There was a less altruistic urge there too, an urge to kiss her sweet mouth, to pull her into his bed and lose himself in her soft heat again. Belle reached up, one warm hand cupping his cheek, her thumb stroking over the stubble with a soft, rasping sound.

“If you don’t want me, just tell me to go,” she whispered, and he shook his head.

“I can’t do that,” he said softly.

“Then can I stay?”

Rush swallowed hard, his heart thumping. She licked her lips a little nervously, and his eyes followed the pass of her tongue, watching the gleam of saliva on her plump lower lip. He badly wanted to kiss her, and she seemed to sense it, her breath coming harder, her eyes growing dark. He reached up to stroke a stray hair back from her cheek, feeling the soft warmth of her skin beneath his fingers, and Belle leaned into his touch, nuzzling his palm as her eyes locked on his.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

He leaned in, fingers sliding into her hair as his mouth found hers, his tongue gently sliding between her soft lips. The taste of her sparked a memory of having her in his bed, of being deep inside her, feeling her clench around him as she came. He let out a low groan, deepening the kiss, and Belle ran her hands up his chest and shoulders to sink into his hair as her tongue stroked against his. She moaned, shifting to press herself against him, and the kiss grew messy and frantic, his lips sliding against hers as his cock hardened in his jeans. Belle pulled her mouth free with a gasp, and he tried to catch his breath, hands cradling her head and his forehead pressed to hers. He could feel her breath, cool against his wet lips, and her eyes flicked up to meet his.

“Take me to bed,” she breathed. “Take me to bed and fuck me hard.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ripperblackstaff prompted: "85: You've never been kissed under the mistletoe?"
> 
> Um - have some immoral student/teacher smut? *throws it at you and runs off*

Rush grasped her hand, pulling her towards his bedroom, his heart thudding high in his throat and his cock pressing against the zipper of his jeans. One inside, he almost slammed the door behind them, grasping Belle’s upper arms and pushing her back against the wall as his mouth found hers. She opened for him, hands sliding up his back as his tongue pushed into her hot, sweet mouth, and Rush groaned low in his throat as he pressed against her.

Closing the door had shut out most of the noise from Jefferson’s party, the merriment fading to a low, muted hum, and Rush deepened the kiss, feeling Belle spread her legs a little, letting him press the whole of his body against hers. His cock was a rigid line, pushing against her core, and he could feel his skin tingling, his blood pounding as he felt the urge to touch her, to taste her, to slide deep inside her. Belle’s fingers moved around, stroking over his chest, dancing across his shoulders before sinking into his hair and sending shivers through him.

It was wrong. She shouldn’t be there. He shouldn’t have let her in, and he _ definitely _shouldn’t have kissed her. But she wanted him and he wanted her and it was hard to think about right and wrong when he remembered exactly how good it felt to be buried inside her, to make her cry out in pleasure, to pour his soul into her. He cupped her breasts, squeezing gently, and Belle pulled her mouth from his with a moan, head thumping back against the wall. Rush kissed down her throat, lips pulling at soft skin, and slid one hand between them, pushing beneath the skirt of her red dress and inside the thick tights she wore. 

Her skin was hot, and he slipped the hand down inside her underwear, fingers pushing between her legs to find soft, hot flesh, wet with slippery fluid. He let out a deep groan, sliding his fingers through her velvet folds, and Belle moaned, hands twisting in his hair and pulling. Rush licked at her throat, feeling the throb of her pulse beneath her skin, and gently probed, feeling the nub of her clit beneath his fingertip. His lips found her ear, brushing against the lobe.

“Open for me,” he whispered. “Let me in.”

Belle spread her legs a little wider, and he pushed a finger inside her tight entrance, letting out a low growl as he felt her relax, the finger sliding easily inside her, her flesh slick with her juices. His thumb brushed over her clit, circling and swirling, and after a few slow, careful thrusts, he pulled out the finger, and let a second join it, plunging inside her, stretching her. Belle moaned, clinging to him, her breath coming in pants as his fingers pushed and thrust. He could feel her body stiffening, muscles growing taut as she neared her peak, and he bit down into her neck, tasting the salt of her perspiration. Belle let out a cry, jerking in his arms as she came, tiny, rhythmic moans coming from her, her cheeks flushed and her breathing rapid and shallow. 

His fingers were wet with her cum, fluid running down over his knuckles, and he drew them from her, tugging down her tights and underwear and baring her pale thighs. Belle tried to kick off her boots, toes catching on her heels and tugging, and he pulled them off, tossing each one to the side and wrenching off the tights before falling to his knees at her feet and pushing up her dress. His hand was still wet and sticky with her fluids, leaving damp patches on her skin as he pushed her thighs apart. She was wet and ready, her sex flushed and swollen, and he nudged her with his nose, drawing it through the soft petals as he inhaled the scent of her arousal. Belle let out a whimpering moan, rising up on her toes with a cry as he stroked his tongue between her legs, tasting her bliss, the musky sweetness of her pleasure.

“Oh God!” she whispered, raking his hair with her fingers. “God, that’s so good!”

Rush groaned in pleasure, tongue circling and stabbing, one arm pushing under her thigh and lifting her leg over his shoulder so that he could reach more of her. Belle moaned, pushing against his mouth, and he slipped his tongue inside her, covering his face in her scent, all rational thought fleeing. Belle was tugging at his hair, undulating against the wall in time with the sweeps of his tongue, and her legs were trembling, her hands shaking, fingertips dancing across his scalp. He pushed a finger deep inside her, and Belle let out a moaning cry, head thumping back against the wall as she came. 

He pulled out the finger, letting his tongue flick over her, tasting her, and sat back on his heels as her knees buckled, her legs wobbling. Rush stood quickly, pulling her close against him and holding her steady, and Belle clung to him, burying her head in his chest as she tried to catch her breath. 

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Bed!” she gasped. “On the bed!”

He nodded, letting her go, and she stepped back on one foot, grasping the hem of her red dress and pulling it over her head. She wore a plain black bra beneath, the cups pushing her breasts upwards, and she reached behind to unfasten the clasp, letting the bra fall and almost falling onto his bed. Rush undressed more slowly, shirt fluttering to the floor with a whispering sound, followed by the clink of his belt and the heavy thump of his jeans. He sat on the edge of the bed to take off his underwear, the loud, incredulous cry from his conscience causing only a brief crisis before Belle knelt up behind him, kissing her way across his shoulders and pulling him back with her. He shoved that voice of reason away, locked it up tight, muffling the noise, and turned to face Belle, hands sliding into her hair as he kissed her.

She opened her legs, sliding a knee up to his waist and letting him press up against her, and Rush felt as though his cock would burst, his mouth leaving hers with a gasp as he felt heat and wetness against him. Belle kissed along his jaw, teeth nipping at him, and he ached to be inside her, but he wanted their time together to last, too, and if he entered her too soon, it would all be over.

“I want to taste you again!” he breathed. “You taste so fucking good, Belle!”

She murmured something, tongue sweeping across his throat and catching on his stubble with a rasping sound. Rush kissed her again, his tongue dipping into her sweet mouth, feeling her breasts push against his chest. He broke the kiss, lips trailing down her throat and over her chest to where his hands cupped her breasts, and he sucked at her, feeling each nipple harden against his tongue, Belle moaning at the pull of his mouth. He shifted lower, kissing over her belly, nose brushing against her skin and breathing in the soft, vanilla scent of whatever lotion she used. He could smell her arousal, too, sweet musk making him want to taste her, to plunge inside her, to fuck her over and over.

His head was between her thighs, and he turned to kiss the soft skin brushing against his hair, hands reaching up to push her legs apart a little more as his mouth moved lower, to where she was wet and hot. Rush was breathing heavily, almost tasting her scent in the air around him, and he stroked a finger through wet flesh, making Belle jerk and moan. The finger traced a slow circle around her swollen clit, and Belle’s fingers slid into his hair, a tiny gasp coming from her. She gripped tight as he followed the same path with the tip of his tongue, and then his finger slid slowly inside her, knuckle-deep. Belle arched her back with a moan, and Rush bent his head to her, kissing her soft flesh. 

The finger slid out and was joined by a second, pushing deep inside. Belle gasped, sliding her feet over his shoulders, her inner thighs brushing against his head as he licked. His fingers slid in and out of her, tongue swirling and flicking, the pace of his thrusts growing quicker, pumping inside her. She was nearing climax, her body growing taut, her moans growing louder, interspersed with tiny cries and whispered affirmations. 

Belle let out a loud moan as she came, hips jerking, and Rush pulled his fingers from inside her, sucking whitish strings of cum from them, licking up the taste of her. He put his mouth to her, burying his nose in her wet flesh, and Belle continued to let out tiny, rhythmic moans as her legs jerked and her fingers stroked through his hair. She was breathing heavily, almost panting, and he pressed a kiss to her, drawing back and pushing up on the heels of his hands to look down on her. Eyes closed, cheeks flushed, lips parted, she tried to catch her breath, and Rush gazed at her with something like wonder. She was breathtakingly beautiful. The pale curves of her breasts heaved, nipples pink and taut, and her sex was flushed and swollen and slick with fluid, making his mouth water and his cock twitch against her thigh. He wanted to be inside her.

Belle tugged gently at his hair, and he followed her lead, moving back up the bed, his body sliding against hers until he was looking down on her and his cock was pressed against soft, wet flesh. Belle licked her lips, eyes moving over his face before latching onto his. She nodded.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He reached between them, taking himself in hand and easing the head of his cock inside her. Belle let her hands slip to his shoulders, opening her legs a little wider, and Rush entered her slowly, the feel of her making him let out a low groan of pleasure as he sank deep. She drew up her knees, letting him push all the way inside her, and he squeezed her breasts, feeling the nipples press into his palms as she gripped him tight. His hands slid upwards, fingers pushing into her hair, and he bent his head to kiss her, tongue sliding in between her lips as he began to move.

The feel of her was exquisite, every bit as good as he remembered, her flesh hot and silky-wet around his cock, every movement sending a what felt like a flurry of sparks dancing over his skin. Belle kissed him hungrily, her mouth sweet, her tongue teasing his as she rolled her hips in time with his thrusts. It felt incredible, pleasure beginning to rise and swell upwards from the base of his spine, and Rush pulled his mouth from hers, breathing hard, his nose brushing hers as he thrust into her.

_ “Fuck!” _he breathed, and Belle nodded.

_ “Yes!” _she breathed. “Fuck me! Fuck me hard!”

Rush quickened his pace, his body slamming into hers, loving the tug and pull of her flesh against his cock. His skin was tingling, his pulse throbbing, and his brain free of almost anything but the urge to finish, to come, to squirt deep inside her. Perspiration was forming between them where their bodies joined, their skin slippery with it, heat wrapping around them with the scent of musk and mingled pleasure. Belle arched up into him, rocking her hips, moaning as she let her head roll back against the pillows, and he bent to lick her neck, drawing his tongue up her throat to her jaw, one hand sliding beneath her to tug her tighter against him. _ So close, so close_. She seemed to stiffen beneath him, lips parting with a tiny moan, and he shook his head.

“_Fuck_, I have to come!” he gasped. “Have to come inside you, Belle!”

She nodded wordlessly, fingers sliding into his hair, and Rush threw his head back with a loud groan, coloured stars bursting in his vision, pleasure washing over him as his cock pulsed. His thrusts became rapid and shallow, hot seed flooding into her, and he felt Belle follow him over the edge, flesh clenching around him as she let out a long, moaning cry. Her hips pumped against him, walls fluttering, drawing every drop from him, and he gave one final, rumbling growl as he thrust deep.

She fell back against the blankets with a contented noise, eyes closed and chest heaving, and Rush let his head drop, face pushing between her neck and shoulder as he gulped in air. Cool air in the room was licking at the sweat on his skin, and after a moment he shivered, feeling goosebumps form on his legs and buttocks. He pushed up on his elbows, and Belle turned her head a little to send him a sleepy, heavy-eyed smile. Her fingers stroked his hair back from his face, palm cupping his cheek.

“That was amazing,” she murmured. “Exactly what I needed.”

“Yeah?” 

“Beats singing Christmas songs or dodging creepy guys holding mistletoe,” she added, and Rush smiled a little.

“Well, you won’t find any mistletoe here,” he said. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever stood under any, let alone carried it around.”

Belle giggled, still stroking his hair.

“Are you telling me you’ve never been kissed under the mistletoe?” she teased. “Well, we should change that.”

“Apparently we don’t need mistletoe,” he said, and she pursed her lips.

“No, but it’s traditional,” she said. “I’ll bring some over next time.”

_ Next time. _ It was on the tip of his tongue to say no, to tell her there wouldn’t be a next time. For the briefest of moments, the tiny voice that called itself his conscience almost spoke and told her to leave, and so he smothered it by kissing her, his arms going around her and pulling her close as he rolled onto his side. There could be no next time, no kisses beneath the mistletoe, no cosy evenings by the fire. There could be no long nights of passion or lazy mornings in bed with cups of coffee and slow, sleepy kisses, but for one night, they could have something. Until they both came to their senses, they could have this.


End file.
